


Boulder Opal

by Linebreaker



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Short One Shot, Yearning, and comparing them to hearts, i just really like gemstones, im sorry, this is self-indulgent nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linebreaker/pseuds/Linebreaker
Summary: Crowley’s heart had once been made of starlight. As a demon, no light remained in his chest. His heart had been extinguished, turned into a cool, dark lump of iron—it sat dormant within the prison of his ribcage for a long time.Then Aziraphale had happened.





	Boulder Opal

Crowley’s heart had once been made of starlight. Something vast and pure and full of so much chaotic love for God and the universe that it had spilled out through his skin. And when he ran his hands across the expanse that was both Nothing and Everything all at once, his fingertips left behind marks on the sky like smudges of ink. He’d painted galaxies into existence with his touch.

And he’d asked questions. He had been so curious back in the beginning, before things like time and morality had been concepts anyone but God knew about.

That had been a long time ago, however. Every question left unanswered had embittered him, hardening his heart, guttering the light until there were just glowing embers left. He’d stopped asking questions—had let his curiosity fade until he nearly forgot it had ever been a part of him. He just did what he was told.

The Fall was an inevitability.

As a demon, there was no starlight in Crowley’s chest. His heart had been extinguished, turned into a cool, dark lump of iron—it sat dormant within the prison of his ribcage for a long time.

Then Aziraphale had happened.

He’d shimmered like an gemstone atop the Eastern Gate, opalescent white and pure as starlight, and for the first time in a while, Crowley had been intrigued. _Curious_. Questions had come next, pouring out of him like water, and the angel had answered them with a nervous interest.

In Crowley’s chest, a tiny crack appeared in the dark matrix of his heart.

Six-thousand years had followed like the blink of an eye—six-thousand years full of secret smiles and furtive glances, of clandestine meetings and arrangements and friendship. Throughout, the cold piece of slag that was Crowley’s heart had endured the heat and the pressure of his longing for the angel. The yearning had pressed and sheared, shaping it into something else. Something brittle and fractal, but that shown with veins of blue-green brilliance.

Not starlight—never again starlight—but something just as beautiful.

Six-thousand years had turned into eleven years, which had turned into a handful of days, and before Crowley knew it, Armageddon was at their doorstep. It knocked, but did not enter, Adam Young turning it away like an unwanted visitor. And after all was said and done, the little group that had bested Heaven, Hell, and The Devil Himself had all gone their separate ways—Crowley was left with no greater purpose than standing beside Aziraphale for the rest of eternity.

He would take it.

On the bus back to London, they sat side by side, each wrapped in their own thoughtful silence, until Aziraphale cleared his throat. When Crowley looked at him, he smiled and his aura shone around him. It was warm and opal-bright, glittering white and blue and pink.

“If the offer is still on the table,” he said quietly, sliding his hand over Crowley’s on the armrest, “I would very much like to stay with you.”

Crowley swallowed and asked, “For tonight?”

“For always, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

The angel smiled and squeezed his hand, and deep in Crowley’s chest, his heart gleamed like a gem.


End file.
